


Something Blue

by DreamingAmethystDragons



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 09:16:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8661706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingAmethystDragons/pseuds/DreamingAmethystDragons
Summary: No matter how tough times get, Sinbad would race across the world, gather all the stars from the sky… if only for Ja’far.





	

The rainy summer was just beginning, and Sinbad sat outside the little clinic with soaked ankles and a speckled black umbrella, watching the people walk by.  Most had umbrellas or, if not those, then the lightest of rain jackets, but not always; those who did not moved with a resigned look, like if they had to be soaked then they'd at least take their time.  It's the people with the umbrellas who moved briskly, heads down or bent over a phone, clutching backpacks or purses or the hands of their young children close as they wind around puddles and the exhalation of drainpipes.  The rain is a good thing, they had said on the news this morning (at 7:12, while Sinbad crunched down the last of his sadly milk-sodden cornflakes and the view out the windows smeared into grey impressions), but even the trees look down, he thinks.  The leaves above him all droop, tips gently dribbling water on his face when he sneaks a glance at the sky.

His phone buzzes against his side and he jumps up, giving the umbrella a gentle shiver to rid of some of the excess water.  Several steps take him to the overhang of the door and he gives the handle a firm tug.  Ja'far is just inside, jacket pulled tight around his thinning body, and he gives Sinbad a wan smile.  _Still don't want to wait inside like a civilized being_ , he jokes, eyes the same color as the winter sky over the ocean, and Sinbad can only smile weakly as the other steps out under their shared shelter.  He doesn't like the waiting rooms and they both know it.  It's too silent, too heavy with unspoken words and punctuated by sniffles and coughs and the overly sympathetic volunteer at the counter. 

As they turn down the sidewalk Sinbad wants desperately to wrap his arm around his companion, pull him a bit closer, but he can't and he settles for exposing his shoulder to the rainfall to offer better protection.  Ja'far makes no indication that he's noticed immediately, but the hand that hooks into the crook of his arm feels like a thank you and that's good enough.  They walk a block, not in silence but taking in the city, the cars and the ticking meters and the weeds pushing up (they were the only things thriving in the rain, truly) through any and every available niche. 

Finally Sinbad jiggles his left arm slightly.  _How'd it go_? he asks, eyeing the lady strutting the opposite direction in what has to be _at least_ five inches of heels.  (He's impressed and will readily admit it.)  _Only took, what, 20 minutes_?

_The person before me cancelled their appointment last minute so they got me in early_ , Ja'far replies, squinting up at the traffic lights.  He frowns.   _It went as expected. The good doctor, she tries, although..._ he adds, a minute later as they turn the corner, _They want to try a new medication._

_Are you gonna?_ Sinbad asks.  He fishes in his pocket for the apartment keys and comes up with a candy wrapper and an old receipt.

_Perhaps.  But I can't try it until next Friday - not this, the one after_ , Ja'far says as he leans around Sin and unclips the keys from where they were hanging from Sin's belt.  (Sin huffs, embarrassed, before he accepts.)  That's nine days away.  _They really want to put me on the usual treatment, but_...

_I know_ , murmurs  Sinbad, gentle.  The door opens nearly as so, but the one hinge does need oiled.  It's just another thing on the list. 

Ja'far's smile is stilted, but his eyes still have that small spark.

xx

Three days later when Sinbad gets home, he knows it's been a poor day.  He knows from the dishes still in the sink and the unopened letters on the counter, and he feels his heart sink as he crouches down and picks up a pair of discarded socks.  He makes his way to the bathroom , picking up a few stray articles (a sweatshirt, a blanket, a shirt) and then leans in the open doorway, looking down at the white-haired man leaning on the floor against the sink cabinets.  There is a light sheen of sweat shining across his bare torso, and when Ja'far tilts his head farther back to look up at his visitor it takes him a moment or two to respond.  _Sin_ , he murmurs, and the roughness of his voice drags across Sin's heart like sandpaper. 

_Hey, dear_ , he greets quietly instead, crouching down to Ja'far's level.  Ja'far doesn't move and Sin's eyes trace the exposed column of a throat, the divot of a collarbone.  There's a frustration there wound with the trembling of Ja'far's legs and he sits down properly, discarding his collection (and his raincoat) to the side by the hamper.  _Are you too hot?  Thirsty?_

_... Some water would be nice_ , Ja'far murmurs. blowing out a breath as Sinbad settles a hand against his forehead.  Sinbad rocks up to his knees and leans over Ja'far to turn the facet on, grabbing for one of the paper cups at the side, making a face at the used ones and opting to give Ja'far a new one even if it's the last one left.  He's patient as Ja'far sips at it, peering back through the room.  The gaming home screen is on the television, waves coasting back and forth under the icons, and  Sinbad kneads Ja'far shoulder gently. 

_How was your day?_ Ja'far asks when he's finished, hooking his hands around his knees.  His breaths are shallow. 

_Fine,_ Sinbad answers, _uneventful, not many people out in the rain_.

_Sorry you have to work to support_ -

_Hush_ , Sinbad says.  _You'd do it for me_.  Because that's what they do, and Sinbad would do whatever he could for Ja'far even if he can't tell him the way his heart speeds up when their fingers touch and the way it feels to wake up at the same time in the early morning light.  Maybe Ja'far already knows; he's perceptive.  Would he let on that he would?  It's hard to say. 

Ja'far tips his head at him, a familiar gesture - then he sighs, rueful and fond.

Sinbad presses on.  _Were you going to take a shower?  That would feel good_. 

_Standing is hard today,_ Ja'far admits, rubbing a hand across his sternum.  _I wanted to change;  I got too hot.  But I don't want a bath._

_I'd help you, if you want,_ Sinbad admits.  They've seen everything of each other; it wouldn't be the first time they showered together.  Anything for Ja'far.  No matter how Sinbad feels, it warms him that Ja'far trusts him as such, and that same flame of a thought kindles again when Ja'far nods slowly _._

Sinbad undresses first before he helps Ja'far to his feet.  As the other leans on him Sinbad is grateful for the strength in his arms and legs.  The water that sprays down on them is different than the feeling of rain on one's face, and not just in temperature.  It's a self-contained world, and when Ja'far rests fully within the circle of Sinbad's arms Sin doesn't know if he wants to break that bubble or not.

xx

They go for a drive.  It's not usually something they have the time or luxury to do, but Sinbad is able to persuade a friend to let him borrow their old beater car and the sun has been shyly peaking its face through the curtains of the clouds, and after the latest batch of neutral news and coughs that shake Ja'far's whole frame at one in the morning the atmosphere in their apartment, in the streets, in the city, feels stale.  So they splurge slightly; Sinbad gets some nicer lunchmeat and Ja'far feels enough motivation to pack a basket, they grab some water bottles and blankets and Sinbad drives north until Ja'far's dozing in the sunshine and the quiet jazzy music from the radio and they are past the tired businesses and worn-down faces.

The trees, the forest, seems to reach out with welcoming arms as they pass into its boundaries; Ja'far wakes up enough to point out chipmunks and squirrels and once, what they think is a groundhog waddling its hurried way up the embankment.  Houses are few in between, here, and finally Sinbad parks along the side of the road near the entrance to an old pathway half-remembered from a while back.  He stands at the opening, eyes focusing inward, and only jumps slightly when Ja'far settles a hand in the small of his back.  _Sinbad_?

_Ready to go?_   Sinbad queries instead, looking down fondly and laughing when Ja'far hip-checks him in retaliation for letting him grab the supplies first.  At least, his eagerness seems shared by Ja'far and as they move Sin keeps an eye out, noting how for once Ja'far's movements retain a little more of his old customary fluidity and grace, not pain.  They keep the pace light, Ja'far accepting a walking stick Sinbad proudly forages and laughing when Sin manages to walk face-first into the biggest spider web he's ever had the misfortune to encounter ( _no, Sinbad, I swear it's not on your back_ ), but it is Ja'far who inhales unsteadily as the sun washes over them as trees give way to ferns and a small grassy clearing, untouched by human machinery and hands.

_This is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen,_ Ja'far says, hushed after emerging from the cathedral of proud oaks and maples,  eyes soaking in the sight like a tulip opening after the last frost of winter.  Sinbad smiles, agreeing only partially - beautiful, yes, but not the _most_ beautiful.   The most beautiful is in front of him, he wants to say.  He wants to take Ja'far's hand, to store those freckles and deft hands and small smile deep away in the most private corner of his heart, but he takes a deep breath and settles a hand (protectively) over Ja'far's shoulder.  If his heart stops when grey eyes meet his, well, then he only hopes Ja'far can't read it on his face or feel it in his fingertips.  _Let's go._

It's the best of ideas and they settle in the center of the clearing, spreading a blanket for the two of them.  The sun is warm but mellow on their faces, and truth be told Sinbad doesn't taste much of the food (although he's sure it's good, but it could have been salt and sand for all it mattered) because he's focused too much on his other senses: the breeze nuzzling his skin, the vibrant rustle of the grass and the wind, the cacophony of green and brown and gold that washes into his soul like an exhale of relief.  Ja'far seems similarly affected, for he says little as well; a startled smile when a bird lands a few feet away, head cocked and beady eyes bright, a hum as he bit into a grape (which Sinbad had gotten especially for him, knowing they were his favorite).  It's good for him - good for them both, and as they finish Sinbad sprawls down, letting one hand reach past the border of the blanket to dig into the soft loamy soil.  As grounding goes, it works, if only partially. 

There's the lightest of rustles and in the corners of his sight he sees Ja'far lay down beside him, their hands only a whisper of skin apart.  The stillness and birdsong are the two constants but Ja'far's presence meets theirs, and Sinbad closes his eyes and exhales, feeling his heart expand in his chest.  He wonders if Ja'far is as overcome as he.

_Was this alright?_ he asks the sky, cracks of blue splintering through his eyelashes.  He'd take that shade blue and paint the city with it, and sprinkle it with all the falling comets of all the raindrops if he could; he'd build boats to sail across its expanse and bring back the embers of distant stars.  For Ja'far.

_Yes_ , says Ja'far, and when his pinky finger hooks around Sinbad's, it feels like the click of a picture being taken.  _Always._

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on tumblr.  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
